Fist of Fear
by Kristine Thorne
Summary: This is a cross over with Judge John Deed and Holby City. It is set to take place about two months after Judge John Deed series 3. Complete.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All characters unfortunately belong to the BBC, not to me. I'm just playing with them.

A/N: This idea arose two days ago, and wouldn't go away. So, I've written it, or at least am writing it. This story is set to take place a couple of months after the end of series 3 of Judge John Deed. It's a possible, far more realistic alternative to the other one I wrote. I have included some Holby City characters, partly to make up necessary roles, and partly as a writing exercise for the third of mine and Richard's joint fics.

Fist of Fear

Part One

It was several weeks since the end of the Diana Halsey case, it eventually having ended quite amicably. Jo had been astonished at George's behaviour towards the end, having expected George to battle with her to the death. But it had only taken her until Diana Halsey's death, and the near miss with the child pornography, for George to give in. She'd exchanged a smile with Jo, possibly the first genuine smile of her life exchanged with Jo, and agreed to One Way's providing some sort of a stable financial future for Michael, Diana Halsey's son, now being cared for by the state. Jo was in the process of trying to adopt Michael, but she knew that it was going to be an uphill struggle, especially considering the fact that she didn't entirely have John's support. But something had been very different since the end of that case. She and George had just about managed to maintain the cease-fire. They still didn't speak to each other unless absolutely necessary, but neither had they fought at every given opportunity. A kind of almost civil detachment had arisen between them, surprising John more than anyone. He had been forced to admit that George had been incredibly shocked, when he'd shown her precisely what One Way's chief executive had planted on his computer. He'd tried to talk to her since, just to make sure she was all right, but she'd been doing her damnedest to avoid him. Whenever he'd cornered her, either in person or on the phone, she'd seemed distant, distracted, and almost desperate to escape from his presence. Quite why, he didn't have the faintest idea, though he supposed he'd find out in due course.

It was on a Monday, late in July, that some of the pieces began to fit together. They were supposed to be starting a pretrial hearing in the afternoon, Jo for the prosecution, George for the defence, and John reigning from his throne on high. They hadn't done this since Diana Halsey's case, and John was approaching it with a certain amount of trepidation and intrigue. Things might be a little different on the surface between Jo and George, but he doubted this would extend to the courtroom. Arriving at court during the lunchtime adjournment, Jo went into the ladies' to touch up her make up. Appear in front of George looking less than immaculate, she would not. But when she pushed open the door, she saw that George was already there, standing with her back to her, clearly attending to her own face in the mirror. "John warned me you were defending this case," Jo said in greeting. "That was nice of him," George said dryly, still not looking in Jo's direction. But when Jo moved to stand beside her, digging out her lipstick, she caught sight of George's face. An ugly purple bruise marred the otherwise beautiful skin, just under George's left eye. "That's a bruise and a half," Jo said, momentarily thrown by seeing such a thing, on this usually very good-looking woman. "Where did you get it?" There was something in Jo's tone of voice, something that told George she knew exactly where, or at least by whose hands she had acquired the bruise. Neil Haughton, the Secretary of State for Trade, George's lover. He had been indirectly responsible for One Way's getting child pornography onto John's computer. Jo knew very little of him, but John had always spoken of him with nothing but loathing and contempt. Jo knew though, she knew that this bruise could only have come from Neil. Had it come from anyone else, George would have reported it straight away, and it would have been the subject of gossip for all concerned. "I walked into a door," George said tonelessly, steadfastly refusing to meet Jo's gaze, and continuing to apply a fresh layer of foundation, in the hopes of concealing it from John's penetrating stare. "Whilst I know I wouldn't be your first choice of confidante, George, you might give me credit for possessing a slight degree of intelligence." "You don't need to know where I got it," George said evasively, determined not to reveal to Jo of all people, that she couldn't prevent her man from doing whatever the hell he liked to her, every time a debate in the commons didn't quite go his way. Rummaging in her handbag, Jo emerged with a tube of concealer. Handing it over, she said, "You might have more success with this." Just for a moment, George turned her eyes on Jo, just for a second meeting her gaze. "Thank you," She said, her eyes briefly showing a flicker of the pain that was going on inside her. Jo simply waited, redoing her own make up, knowing that if she even tried to press George on what had happened, it would push her away all the more. But as George continued to say absolutely nothing, Jo knew that she couldn't allow the question to go unsaid. "Did Neil do this to you?" George couldn't help a short, mirthless laugh. "You don't pull your punches, do you." "Not the best remark in the circumstances," Jo replied, inwardly wincing at George's comment. "Other than to satisfy your curiosity, which I am not in the habit of doing, what would it achieve for me to tell you?" "You can't let him get away with this, George." "Don't you dare try and give me advice on something you know nothing about," George said icily. "Yes, Neil did do this to me, but if you for one moment spare a thought to his position, which holds even more power than John's, you will realise that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. So will you please, just for once in your life, do as I ask, and forget this conversation took place, or this time I really will get you taken off the road." Jo knew that George was referring to the photographs of Jo and John in bed together, taken on the night that had led to her hearing with the Professional Conduct Committee. "That's an empty threat, and you know it," Jo replied, knowing that George didn't have the power to make that happen, any more than she had last time. "And you can't ask me to forget we had this conversation." #"Perhaps not," George conceded bitterly. "But I can ask you not to tell John about it." Jo struggled with herself for a few moments, knowing that she really ought to tell John, but that George was desperately pleading with her not to do so. "Why don't you want him to know?" She asked, though she thought she knew why. "Isn't that obvious?" George demanded scornfully. "Because ever since I hooked up with Neil, John has done everything in his power, and an awful lot that isn't, to thrust home to me just what a spineless, worthless cretin Neil is. The last thing I need right now is for John to point out that he told me so." "George, he wouldn't," Jo protested, though knowing in the same instant that yes, John probably would. He wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to tell George that she was wrong, and he was right. "You know he would," George replied, sounding utterly defeated. "So that's why I don't want him to know. I'll deal with this in my own time, and in my own way, and most of all, without his help." "Fine," Jo said, closing her handbag and feeling completely useless. "But don't let it go on too long."

However, later on that afternoon, George was forced to agree that yes, she did in fact have a problem. John had been his usual, awkward, interfering self, and with his added barrage of questioning, they hadn't exactly progressed very far. When the session finally drew to a close, John rising and sweeping out through the door behind the judge's bench, George sank back into her seat, the pain of all her other bruises, all the ones Jo didn't know about, beginning to take its toll on her concentration. Jo had observed George's gradual deterioration, thinking that George really was putting on a masterly act to keep what she was going through from John. Jo waited until everyone else had gone, stacking her papers together and putting them in her briefcase. George had uncharacteristically slumped forward, propping her elbows on the bench in front of her, and resting her chin on her hands. Her eyes were closed, as if she was trying to internally replenish her strength. As they were the only two left in the room, Jo cautiously approached her. "George," She said, trying to get her attention, but getting no response. Reaching out a hand, she gently touched George's shoulder. Instantly, George wheeled round, gasping in pain as her bruised flesh protested at the sudden movement. "I'm sorry," Jo said, sounding genuinely apologetic. George squeezed her eyes shut, biting furiously down on her lip to prevent herself from crying out. Walking round the bench, Jo reached forward for the jug of water that perpetually rested between the two fighting factions. Filling a glass, she put it down in front of George. Then, searching in her own handbag, she brought out a packet of extra strength Ibuprofen with added Codeine, the strongest painkillers that could be bought over the counter. Dropping the packet down next to the glass of water, she left it up to George to do as she pleased. "Thank you," George said, once the spasm had passed and she could speak again. "But I'm awash with those things as it is. I think I'm developing a tolerance for them." Putting the tablets back in her handbag, Jo said, "Which tells me that you not only have far more bruises than the one on your face, but that you've been acquiring them for some time." "Don't go there, Jo," George asked wearily. "Because for the first time in my life, I neither have the energy nor the inclination to argue with you." Jo stared at her. This was a George she didn't know, a George she had never encountered before, a George who was revealing her weakness, in spite of a desperate need to keep it hidden. "This isn't like you, George," She said eventually, receiving a mirthless laugh in reply. "That's all you know," George said stonily. "You're not used to seeing me without my armour, but believe me, it does happen." "That's not what I meant," Jo tried to calm her down. "You don't like discovering that I'm not as strong and impenetrable as you've always thought for all these years, do you," George added knowingly. Well, all it really proves is that I can act even better than some of my more dubious clients. Try asking John why we didn't manage to stay married, try asking him why he originally started playing away. But most of all, try asking him why Charlie lived with him for the majority of the time. That might provide you with a few enlightening answers." George suddenly stopped, as if realising that she was rambling, inadvertently telling Jo more than she'd meant to. "I'm sorry," She said eventually. "I'm not making much sense to myself today, never mind anybody else." "You can't go home like this, George," Jo insisted. "Oh, and precisely what else do you expect me to do?" George demanded scathingly. "At least being in court this afternoon has given me an excuse to stay late at the office." After drinking some of the water, George rose stiffly to her feet, and began gathering her things together. As they moved towards the door, George turned back to face her. "Please promise me you won't tell John, because I really don't need his overenthusiastic protectiveness on top of everything else." Jo smiled slightly at George's description of how John would probably react. "I won't, if you don't want me to." Then, as Jo reached to open the door, she said, "And whilst I suspect you won't take this seriously coming from me, if you need anything, you know where to find me." "Actually, I don't, know where to find you, that is," George pointed out, to cover up how touched she felt. "But thank you." Digging a pen and a scrap of paper out of her handbag, Jo scribbled down both her phone numbers, and handed the paper to George. "I mean it," she said, as they walked out of court. "Because this isn't going to go away."

Jo kept her promise, though she found it harder and harder to do so. George didn't look any worse over the next three days, but she didn't exactly seem any better either. George was aware of Jo's eye on her, and intermittently castigated herself for revealing as much as she had to her. Jo was the last person George should be confiding in, especially if she wanted to keep the situation from John. But Jo had been so kind to her, not something George had ever experienced from Jo before, because of their mutual animosity towards each other. But in the days between Monday and Friday, she more than once read Jo's phone numbers, wanting to call her, wanting someone to help her out of the mess she was in. But even though she saw Jo every day in court, she couldn't do it. Georgia Channing could never, would never, ask for help from her longest suffering rival.

On the Thursday evening, John took Jo out for dinner. Ever since he had told her about having slept with his therapist, she had been maintaining a greater distance from him, almost making him prove to her that she was still the one he wanted. She was happy to let him do this for now, because she enjoyed having him lavishing his attention on her, really going out of his way to show her how much he loved her. She was allowing him to get closer to her again, mainly because of what had happened with One Way. John had been greatly upset by finding such a despicable picture on his computer screen, though he'd never directly talked about it. Jo wasn't stupid, however. She knew that John had left Mimi with Charlie for the night, and she knew that this was because he hoped he might be sleeping with Jo by the end of the evening. She might, she might not, Jo still didn't know. She knew that it certainly wouldn't be sensible to sleep with John, but when had her actions ever been sensible when they concerned this man.

It was just after their main course had been cleared away, when they were both feeling relaxed and content, when John's mobile rang. "You'll get banned from here for leaving your phone switched on," Jo commented as he dug it out of his pocket. But as she watched an expression of concern, anger, and downright fear cross his face, Jo felt a chill settle in her bones. Only one thing could provoke a look like that. Switching the phone off, John rose hurriedly to his feet. "George is in hospital," He said, striding towards the bar and digging for his credit card to pay for their meal. As Jo picked up her handbag and followed him, she knew exactly what she had to do. When John had paid, and was striding purposefully towards the exit, Jo said, "Give me your keys." When they were outside, he asked, "Why?" "Because I need to tell you something, and I don't want an angry man behind the wheel, or George might not be the only one in hospital." Seeing that she was deadly serious, John handed over the keys to his extremely precious convertible. When they were in the car, Jo moved the seat forward, to take into account her slightly shorter frame. "Which ward is she in?" She asked, switching on the engine. "General Surgery," He replied, just for a moment thinking that he quite liked the sight of Jo behind the wheel of his car. "So, what's this little bombshell you need to tell me?" He asked carefully. "What did the hospital say to you?" Jo knew she was avoiding the question as long as possible, but she needed to know what he already knew. "Not much, just that she'd been brought in, and she'd asked them to call me. They found my number in her handbag." "I think Neil's been hitting her," Jo said quietly, wondering just what she was about to unleash. "What do you mean, you think?" John demanded coldly, this telling Jo that she was about to encounter the biggest row she'd ever had in her life. "All right, I know. I found out a few days ago." "Then why in god's name didn't you tell me!" He almost shouted, totally unable to believe that Jo had done this to him. "Because George asked me not to," Jo countered back, weaving her way through a steady stream of traffic. "And since when did you do anything George asked of you?" He threw back. "It wasn't so long ago that you were at each other's throats, in court and out of it." "And have you not considered," Jo continued, her own voice rising now. "That I did this one thing, because she did ask it of me. George has never asked anything of me in her life, nor I of her. That's how I knew how much it meant to her to keep it from you. She hated having to do it, but the last thing in the world she would have wanted was for you to know. I wasn't happy about it, believe me." Jo swore as a car leapt out in front of her, slamming on the breaks to prevent them from crashing. "Do you mind remembering just whose car your driving?" John said, receiving a stony glare in return. "How did you find out?" He asked, calming down slightly. "I saw her trying to cover up a bruise on her face. Make up can do wonders these days." "When?" "Just before the afternoon's session on Monday. She wasn't best pleased that I worked out what had happened, and it took her a while to admit to it." "How long has it been going on?" "I don't know, but at a guess, I'd say since the end of the One Way case." "Why didn't she want me to know?" "Pride, John," Jo said somberly. "She didn't want to prove you right about him." "Talk about keeping up appearances," John said in disgust. "You must be gentle with her, John," Jo tried to persuade him. "I will be," He said unconvincingly. "I'm serious," She insisted. "George is very frightened, or at least she was on Monday, and you're usual lack of tact and sensitivity won't help the situation in any way." As they pulled into the hospital carpark, she just prayed that John wasn't about to make things an awful lot worse.

As they followed the signs up to Keller Ward on the fifth floor, they were virtually silent, both wondering just what they were about to be told. When they reached the front desk of the general surgery ward, they were greeted by a woman whose name badge said Sr. Lisa fox. "I'm Mr. Justice Deed," John said to her. "Someone called me about George Channing." "That was me," Lisa replied. "Mrs. Channing's in theatre right now, but you're welcome to wait." "Can you tell me what happened to her?" John asked, determined to try anything to get at the truth. "No, I can't, I'm sorry. Ric Griffin, that's the general surgeon, he'll be able to tell you more when they come out of theatre." Just then, a tall, beautifully striking woman came rapidly towards them from the adjoining ward. Her name badge proclaimed her to be Connie Beauchamp. Stopping briefly at the desk, she said, "Lisa, can you get Chrissie to find Will, and tell him that he'll have to take over with Mr. Jackson. It seems Mr. Griffin requires my assistance." "Connie," Lisa said carefully. "These are the patient's relatives." "I will do all I can for her," Connie said, looking a flabbergasted John straight in the eye. "And I will hopefully be able to put you in the picture when I come out of theatre. I'm sure Lisa will look after you." Without another word, Connie turned on her heel and began running down the empty corridor. Lifting his eyes to the sign above the door to the ward from which Connie had emerged, he read the words, Darwin Ward, Cardiothoracics. "Why does George require a cardiothoracic surgeon?" He asked. "I'm sorry," Lisa insisted. "But I really can't tell you. As a judge, you should know that." "She's right, John," Jo said persuasively. "We'll have to wait." But as they spent the next two hours in the relatives' room, John couldn't sit still. He kept pacing between the window and the door, sitting down for five minutes, and then starting the routine again. Jo was forcefully reminded of the time when her son tom had been knocked off his bike, and she'd had to drive all the way to York while he was being operated on. The fact that George had needed the services of both a general surgeon, and a cardiothoracic surgeon, really wasn't a good sign. John was also mulling this one over, though his thoughts did keep straying to the woman who had spoken to him. He'd never known they made surgeons as pretty as Connie Beauchamp was. Where did the name Beauchamp come from, he wondered, because her voice was undoubtedly, indisputably, upper class English? But then his thoughts would flick back to George. How the hell had she got herself into such a mess? Why hadn't she come to him? She surely knew he'd always help her, she knew he would. Even after all the arguments and all the tears, and yes, all the silences, she would still be there for him and he for her. Look what she'd done for him with the One Way case. She'd warned him to be careful, knowing that her disreputable clients would surely try something to unseat him. But she hadn't had the slightest idea of just how far they would go. Was that what this was all about? Had Haughton started beating her up, just because she'd failed to win One Way's battle for them? Just wait till he got his hands on that evil piece of scum. He'd show him a thing or three about only picking on people of one's own size and strength. Neil Haughton would regret the day he'd ever laid a finger on George.

After two hours, Jo decided to go and see what she could do about finding them a coffee. But as she began walking down the corridor, she saw a group of doctors pushing a trolley towards them, one of them being the woman who had spoken to John. Catching a glimpse of George's all too familiar blonde hair, Jo ducked back into the relatives room to tell John that George was back. They stood on the fringes as George was taken into one of the High Dependency rooms, transferred to the bed and hooked up to several monitors. When everyone stood back, John and Jo could see the bruised face lying on the pillow, the blue eyes still closed. Both her eyes were slowly turning black, and her lip had clearly been split, though her nose was still in tact. When Connie looked up and saw them, she gestured them forward. "Ric, these are George Channing's relatives." Ric held out a hand. "Ric Griffin," He said. "John Deed," John replied, seeing that he wasn't going to have to use his status to get information out of this man. "Can you tell me what happened to her?" Ric tried to mask his anger, though not entirely. "As to how Mrs. Channing ended up in my theatre, I couldn't possibly tell you. However, she arrived with a ruptured spleen, which I have removed, a tear to her liver, which has been stitched, several cracked ribs, two of which are already healing, meaning they were done some time ago. She also has any number of bruises old and new. One of her cracked ribs had slightly punctured her right lung, which is why I needed the assistance of Mrs. Beauchamp." "Would I be right in thinking that you are Mr. Justice Deed?" Connie asked, suddenly knowing where she'd heard the name John Deed before. "Yes," John replied, looking over at her. "Why do you ask?" "I do read the Times' Law section occasionally," Connie replied, telling John that she could only be referring to his highly sensational conversation with a journalist, over the debacle of the James Brooklands case. "Whoever did this to Mrs. Channing, deserves putting behind bars without delay," She said firmly. "One could hope, that you might use your tendency to ruffle the feathers of the Lord Chancellor, to dispose of the animal who did this." "And what would you do?" John asked Ric, liking Connie's turn of phrase. "You want my opinion?" Ric replied. "Whoever did this, deserves a taste of his own medicine, but far be it from me to encourage a judge to break the law." "How long will she be unconscious?" Jo asked, hoping that John wasn't about to do something stupid. "Probably for a couple of hours," Ric said, finally taking her in. "Though you won't get much sense out of her for the rest of the night. If all goes well, we'll be able to take out the chest and abdominal drains tomorrow, but she'll need to stay here for a few days." "Thank you for everything you've done," John put in, thinking that if George was going to be out for a further couple of hours, now might just be the time to teach Haughton a lesson.

When everyone had gone, with Lisa saying that she would be checking on George every fifteen minutes, John and Jo moved to stand on either side of the bed. "I'll kill him for this," John said quietly but vehemently, as he looked down on George's sleeping form. "Which wouldn't exactly help matters, now would it," Jo carefully reminded him. They could see the dried blood in George's hair, making it stick up in little spikes at one side. Someone had washed the blood from her face, taking her make up with it, and making her look older and thinner than Jo had ever seen her. "I can't believe she didn't tell me about this," John said into the silence, only broken by the soft, regular beeps of the monitor. "I can't believe that none of us knew it was going on," Jo replied, thinking that George's acting skills had almost caused her to lose her life. "Well, as she'll probably be asleep for a while," John said, reaching for George's handbag which had been left on a chair. "I think now might be the time to fetch a few of her things." Removing George's house keys from the bag, he gently tossed them between his two hands, and then looked up to see Jo watching him. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid," She said quietly. "Promise me, John." "If he's got any sense, he won't even be there," Jon replied, not giving her a straight answer. "I mean it, John," Jo persisted. "He really isn't worth it, and it won't help George." "We'll see," He said, walking towards the door. "If anything changes before I come back, I've got my mobile." Turning to take one last glance at the occupant of the bed, he walked out of the door.

As John drew up outside George's house, he was surprised to see that Neil's car was still there. He thought that Haughton would have scarpered by now, but perhaps he was trying to get rid of any evidence. Acting as if this was his own house, he fitted George's key into the lock and walked in through the front door. There he was, in the lounge doorway, trying to scrub something off the wall, something that looked suspiciously like blood. Glancing up, Neil was astonished to see Deed. What the hell was he doing here? The silly bitch must have phoned him, or told the hospital to phone him. "What are you doing here?" Neil asked, as if scrubbing blood off the wall of his lover's house was a normal, every day occupation. "I might ask you the same," John said coldly. "I happen to live here, which is more than you've done for many years." Neil knew that it certainly wasn't wise to verbally tangle with this man, but he just couldn't stop himself. Everything Deed did, everything he stood for, wound him up to distraction. "You don't live here any more," John said, almost conversationally. "Because I hardly think George is going to want to come back into this house, knowing that your sorry hide is still here waiting for her." "What are you talking about?" Neil demanded ineffectually. "I'm talking, you pathetic waste of space, about why my ex-wife is lying unconscious in hospital. I'm talking about why she has multiple injuries, both old and new, and I'm talking about that blood that you are clearly trying to eradicate from the wallpaper. What did you do, tell them she fell down the stairs?" Seeing as this was exactly what Neil had said to the paramedics, he just gaped, hearing the steady rise in John's voice that only signaled immediate danger. "What made you do it, Haughton? Did you find out that you were in serious danger of being dropped from the cabinet, just because your live-in lawyer couldn't come up with the goods, and keep the corrupt institution you care to call a government, out of the future firing line? What's the matter, have I hit too close to home? You're pathetic, totally, and utterly pathetic, nothing but a whinging, sniveling minion who gets his kicks out of overpowering defenseless women. Is that how you like it, Haughton, beating women black and blue if they don't fulfill your requirements? What else did you do to her, or would it offend your delicate sensibilities to tell me? After all, someone who uses the planting of child pornography to achieve their ends, wouldn't exactly be above a bit of rape and pillaging, now would they." Neil couldn't find anything to say. He just stared at John, mouthing as ineffectually as a goldfish, suddenly removed from its homely bowl. "Now, listen to me, Haughton, because I am only going to say this once. Go upstairs, pack everything that belongs to you, and get out. I'm sure that one of your Whitehall confederates will find you somewhere to stay." Under John's watchful eye, Neil walked up the stairs, feeling as if his legs were acting of their own free will. Whilst Neil was otherwise occupied, John turned his attention to the state of the lounge, which looked to be where this very last fight had taken place. Apart from a table lamp having been knocked over, there was broken glass from a vase scattered over the floor near the sofa. This was possibly what George had cut herself on, as there were traces of blood on the coffee table. Clearing away the scattered fragments, and righting the table lamp, John set about trying to clean away the blood. He heard Neil come downstairs a couple of times, clearly putting things into his car. He didn't breathe a sigh of relief, until he heard the roar of the engine, and listened as George's ex-lover boy drove away.

At around eleven o'clock, George began to stir. Jo had been sitting by her bed, George's hand in hers. It had initially felt very odd to do this, to hold the hand of someone she'd fought with for most of her life, but George's hand was small, delicate, with the long, spatulated fingers of a pianist. She occasionally chafed it between her two hands, trying to keep it warm. She could hear various sounds from the ward, but it was mostly quiet. The first she knew of George's emerging back into consciousness, was the twitch of her hand. "What are you doing here?" George mumbled, struggling to open her eyes, one of which had almost closed because of the bruise. "How did you know it was me?" Jo asked. "Well, this hand certainly isn't John's," George replied dryly, giving said hand a little squeeze. "Please tell me he doesn't know I'm here?" She said, the thought gradually occurring to her. "I'm afraid he does," Jo told her. "You asked them to call him." "How very stupid of me," George said groggily. "I don't remember doing that. In fact, I don't even remember coming here." "That's hardly surprising," Jo said, wondering just what John was up too all this time. "Where is he?" George asked, as if catching the same suspicion. "I'm not sure," Jo said evasively. "He's gone to find Neil, hasn't he," George said, clearly becoming agitated at the idea. "I've got to stop him, he'll beat Neil to a pulp for doing this to me." Trying to pull herself into a sitting position, she cried out when the movement tugged at her stitches. Jo was immediately at her side, gently persuading her to lie down again. "He'll be here soon, and he won't do anything stupid. I made him promise." "And we both know just how empty John's promises are," George told her, allowing herself to be cajoled into staying still. Possibly having heard George's cry of pain, Ric put his head round the door. "You're awake earlier than expected," He said, coming into the room. "How do you feel?" "As though I've been under a train. Why, what did you do to me?" "Removed your spleen, repaired your liver, repaired your lung, though that was done by Mrs. Beauchamp, and tried to patch you up. I think we can safely eliminate falling down the stairs as your cause of injury." As he said this, he fixed his gaze on her blurry one. "And I believe that the cause of my injuries would be my business. Wouldn't you agree?" "Don't tell me," Ric said in realization. "You're a lawyer as well." "As is Jo, yes. So, thank you very much for putting me back together, but I do hope that any speculation as to the cause of my being here, might be curtailed forthwith." "With three of you all under my roof at the same time, of course, Mrs. Channing." When he had done a few checks and left them to it, Jo smiled. "George, only you could come out of an anaesthetic, and talk to your surgeon as if he were on the opposite side to you in court." "I'm getting in training for the positively enormous barrage of questions, that I know John is going to throw at me the minute he appears." "You ought to be getting some rest," Jo insisted. "No rest for the wicked, as they say," George murmured drowsily, clearly sliding briefly back into unconsciousness, as the residual effect of the anaesthetic tried to cling onto her.

A little while later, John appeared, slipping silently into the room so as not to wake her. "She woke up for a while, and wondered where you were," Jo told him quietly, wanting an answer to that one herself. "I told you," He said, putting an overnight bag down on the floor. "I was getting some things for her." "That must have been an experience for you," George said dryly, their voices having woken her again. "You can't have been through my underwear drawer since we were married." Jo smiled George's words having had the desired effect of taking the edge off the situation. "So, what did you do to him that I need to worry about?" She asked him, knowing that plainspeaking was the only way to get through this with John. "Oh, don't worry," John said bitterly. "He's still alive. I sent him crawling back to Whitehall. I don't think he left even one possession." "That was very sweet of you," George said groggily, and both John and Jo realised that she would probably slip in and out of consciousness for a few hours yet. But it seemed that John wasn't quite prepared to wait until she was in a more mentally active frame of mind. "I think you owe me an explanation, George," He said carefully. "Do you?" George replied, struggling to keep her eyes open, wholly unable to focus on him. "Yes, such as why didn't you tell me?" "You'd have loved that, wouldn't you," She replied, her usual level of sparring, not sounding quite right in her drugged state. "It would have given you an immense amount of satisfaction, for me to tell you that you were right all along. But then, Mr. Justice Deed is always right, I'd forgotten that." Said in that drowsy, groggy, slightly slurred voice, the words sounded even more poignant. "That isn't fair," John said quietly. "I'd have helped you get rid of him." "Yet another stunt to fulfill your bruised ego, no doubt," Was her response, her use of the word bruised making him wince. "Why do you always have to hide things from me?" He asked, now beginning to lose some of his perpetual cool. "You always do this, even when whatever it is you're hiding is causing you harm, or should I say especially when whatever you're hiding is causing you harm." "You always want to hear the truth," George said almost flatly. "But the actual discovery of it always hurts you. Part of you hated and despised me, when I told you the truth after Charlie was born, and most of you probably despises me for this. So, that's why I didn't tell you, because I knew it would hurt you, and because I knew that it would only add to the antipathy you feel for me." Jo just stared at her, thinking that perhaps she really oughtn't to be here for this, but unable to get up and leave. They both however realised, that most of the comments George had thrown at John, were the result of months, if not years of self-loathing. John gave her a few minutes to recover herself, and then started in on another tack altogether. "What else did he do to you?" He asked gently, though with an underlying firmness. "Nothing," She replied stonily, her tone of voice immediately telling them otherwise. Getting to his feet, John began pacing round the room, occasionally pausing to watch the monitors, though having no idea what he was supposed to be looking at. "Keeping important things undercover, yes, George, you are good at, but lying to me, you are not." "Don't do this, John," George pleaded, though trying not to show him how desperate she was that he shouldn't stumble on the truth. "Why, would I have to get him arrested for rape, as well as grievous bodily harm?" "No," George almost shouted, and they were greeted to the pitiful sight of George cringing away from John's penetrating gaze. "Funny," John said, almost conversationally. "He looked like that when I asked him." "John, drop it," Jo said warningly, but he wouldn't listen to her. "Why would you let him do that, George? Why would you let him keep on beating and doing god knows what else to you, when all you had to do was walk away?" George had been about to speak, but the door opened with a swish. "Mr. Justice Deed," Connie said icily. "A word."

Connie had overheard some of the steadily growing row, and thought that she may as well nip it in the bud. Waiting till she and John were outside the room, she nevertheless left the door ajar, giving Jo and George the opportunity to eavesdrop. "Now, really isn't the time for this type of discussion," She began stonily. "Oh, I quite agree," John replied. "That should have taken place at least two months ago." "Do you have any idea just what Mrs. Channing has been through today?" "That's what I'm trying to find out," John quipped back. "Don't you dare try to exhibit a level of expertise that you clearly do not possess. Mrs. Channing has not only been through a systematic and prolonged period of domestic violence, but she has also just been through two forms of major surgery. Whether or not she has also been sexually assaulted, is for her to tell you, if, and when, she is ready, not before. I will not have your barrage of cross-examination, being thrust on a seriously ill, emotionally vulnerable patient, no matter how much you think it vital to get at the truth." "But..." John tried to interrupt. "No buts," She insisted. "Oh, you may rule supreme when you are in court, Mr. Justice Deed, but here, in this hospital, and especially when it concerns my patient, I do. Now, if you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with the Medical Director. Oh, which would be me," She added almost nonchalantly, turning about and stalking back into the room, and firmly shutting the door to keep him out. "Don't worry," Came Ric's voice, from a little way down the corridor. "She tries to treat us all like that." "And how do you handle her?" John asked, walking towards him. "That would be telling," Ric said with a wink, telling John in no uncertain terms just how he had handled Connie Beauchamp, on her very first day no less. "Could you do with a coffee?" Ric asked, gesturing towards the rec room. "Yes, thank you," John replied, though thinking that any more nervous stimulation this evening really wasn't necessary.

Jo and George had listened in silence, taking in every word Connie said to him. They exchanged a glance, both trying desperately not to smile, for fear they would both laugh. They knew that Connie's point was a serious one, but neither woman could fail to be impressed that someone, especially a woman, had finally put John in his place for them to see. When Connie reappeared, George waited for her to close the door. "That is definitely the funniest thing I've seen in a long time," George said quietly. "And believe me, if I ever needed a laugh, today was the day, though I wish you could have waited until it wouldn't be such agony to do so." Connie smiled. "I wouldn't have thought that you would be a stranger to putting men in their place," She said, moving over to examine the readings on the monitors. "Well, seeing as I've ended up here, I'd say that was a fairly pointless assumption." Connie could have kicked herself. "How do you feel?" She asked in lieu of an apology. "As though I want to be at home, in my own bed," George replied. "Well, that's going to be at least a few days, I'm afraid." "So, you couldn't consider letting me out tomorrow then?" George thought anything was worth a try. "Absolutely not," Connie said gently but firmly. "I've just sewn up a thankfully, very small, puncture in your right lung. I am not about to let you go home, to do too much too soon, and undo all the good work both Mr. Griffin and I have done on you this evening. I just want you to rest, okay?" George didn't look convinced. "I would rest far more if I was at home in my own bed," She persisted. "Oh, and would the man who did this to you, be there to nurse you back to health, only to put you back in here, and with far greater consequences?" "I am reliably informed that my house is now my own again," George replied, almost lusting after the opportunity to tangle with this woman in court one day. "Please will you at least consider it?" "All right, I will consider it, but don't expect any miracles. We'll see how you are tomorrow, and I will talk it over with Mr. Griffin. Now, as it is after midnight, and I have another eight hours to do before I can go home, I think you should go to sleep. Professor Kahn has put you on a PCA pump, so if you feel any pain, just press this button." When Connie had left, George at last went quiet. "I'm sorry for dragging you into all this," She said, sounding utterly exhausted. "Don't be," Jo said, gently taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. "And John will calm down, eventually." "I know, I just can't deal with him in full prosecution mode at the moment." "George, I will try to persuade him to drop the questioning, but I wouldn't bank on me having much success." "He's not going to leave it alone, is he?" She asked, though already knowing the answer. "No, you know he isn't. He just wants to know what's been happening to you." "You already know, don't you." This was a statement rather than a question. "The fact that you were so desperate for him to stop questioning you, does give me an idea, yes. But as Mrs. Beauchamp said to him, that is for you to discuss if, and only if, you are ever ready to do so." "I feel so stupid," George said bitterly, brief tears rising to her eyes. "Sh," Jo said, gently smoothing George's hair back from her face. "You should get some rest." "Jo, why are you doing this?" George asked. "Let's face it, it's not as if I've ever given you any incentive to be even remotely civil to me." "I don't know, if you want the truth," Jo replied. "Ask me again tomorrow, and I might have an answer for you." As she watched George gently drift off to sleep, she heard John quietly re-enter the room. He sat down on the other side of the bed, taking George's other hand in his. They waited until her breathing became a little more regular, her cracked ribs preventing her from breathing easily. They gently put her hands under the covers to keep them warm, and walked silently out of the room. As they approached the desk, John asked, "Was she all right?" "Yes, but you've got to go easy on her, John. She's not going to tell you anything if you go in all guns blazing, and I'm not sure that she will anyway." Asking Chrissie to ring them if there was any change, they walked out to John's car. As they drove away, John behind the wheel this time, John asked, "Can I ask an enormous imposition of you?" "Would you like to stay with me tonight?" Jo replied, knowing that he needed the company. "Is that all right?" He said, not wanting to pressure her into it. "Yes," She said simply, briefly meeting his gaze in the driving mirror. "There aren't likely to be any hidden cameras peeping in my windows, so it's fine." "Thank you," He said, taking her hand in his. 


	2. Part Two

Part Two

A little while later, they were lying in Jo's bed, she wearing a thin cotton nightie, and he wearing just his boxer shorts. It had been over a year, since she'd been held in John's strong arms like this, and then she'd been very drunk, not stone cold sober. As they lay there, occasionally talking, sometimes kissing, neither of them feeling remotely like sleep, Jo remembered something. "George told me to ask you something," She said into the silence. "Well, she suggested I should, but I don't think she really meant it." "I'm all ears," John replied, clearly intrigued. "She told me to ask you, about why Charlie ended up living with you, rather than her." "Ah," He said in realisation. "The tomb of the forbidden subject. I'm surprised she raised it with you though." "You've never told me much about that. I've never asked, because I knew you would tell me if you wanted to." "There's no reason why you shouldn't know," He said resignedly. "I'm just not sure that George would want you to, but then again, I'm getting the distinct feeling that she is about to tell you far more about this whole debacle than she ever will me, so why not." Tucking her head into his shoulder, because he didn't want to have to look into her eyes, he began. "When Charlie was born, George, for some reason either couldn't, or didn't know how, to love her. That maternal instinct that I see in you, every time you talk about Mark and Tom didn't quite get switched on in George. She kept this from me for six months, during which time she barely wanted me to touch her, never mind make love to her. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out what." "Please tell me that wasn't when you started playing away?" Jo asked, though thinking she knew the answer. "Don't you start," John replied. "I've gone through quite enough guilt about that to last me a lifetime. Yes, I did begin to seek solace elsewhere, because I thought she didn't love me. But it seems it was the other way round. George thought that if I discovered how she felt about Charlie, or how she didn't feel about Charlie, I couldn't possibly even like her any more, far less love her." "How did you find out?" Jo asked, thinking that George's insistence on dealing with everything by herself, had certainly gone too far this time. "In her, oh so infinite wisdom, George managed to stumble on a particularly dangerous coping mechanism, that of not eating. I didn't notice it at first. Well, you don't when you live day in day out with someone. But she eventually got so thin that I couldn't miss it. I never want to go through a day like that again. She was terrified that I would loathe the very sight of her." "But it wasn't her fault," Jo insisted, as if John didn't already know. "Yes, I know," He said, with more regret in his voice than she'd ever heard before. "But she thought she was abnormal, that there was something wrong with her. She'd been finding it difficult to have me anywhere near her, because she didn't think she deserved my love. But, by then, I'd already got the taste for women who I could pick up and throw away again the next morning." Jo winced. "I never thought of you like that," He said, clearly sensing her thought. "Didn't you?" Jo needed some sort of clarification, even if it was John's usual suave insincerity. "Never," He said, lifting her face to his so that he could kiss her. "George must have beaten herself up about that all these years," Jo said after a while. "Yes, she has. She thinks she was a terrible mother, but she wasn't. George did everything she possibly could to keep how she felt from Charlie. She even breast-fed her. That made the not eating a lot easier, any nourishment she did take in, going straight to Charlie. Anyway, when she found out about you, and finally left me, the only way she could deal with it was to close herself off to any kind of feeling. I suspect that's why Charlie came up with the oh so lovely name of the ice maiden." "Ouch," Jo said with feeling. "Yes, adolescents really do have a delightful command of the English language," He said dryly.

They lay quiet for a time, both thinking over the events of the evening, and Jo trying to sort out everything John had told her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Jo said eventually, feeling that if she had broken George's confidence, as she'd been tempted to do all week, George wouldn't be where she was now. "I know," He said, gently kissing her. "If I were in her shoes, I probably wouldn't have wanted me to know either." They continued kissing, this having always been one of their favourite occupations when they were alone. But when Jo gently disengaged herself from him, he simply raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm fighting an internal battle," She told him. "Because part of me badly wants you to make love to me, and the rest of me knows I shouldn't." "What's stopping you?" He asked, thinking that he really was making progress for her to admit this much to him. Moving out of his arms, she lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling so that all he could see of her was her profile. "Sixteen years is a very long time, John, and I certainly don't look the same as I did at twenty five." "Oh, how fickle you think I am," He commented sorrowfully. "Age and appearance mean a lot to you, John." "With some random woman who I've never seen before, and have no intention of seeing again, yes, but not with you." Putting his arms round her, he turned her to face him. "I love you, Jo, every single part of you. Nothing will ever change that." "I don't want you to get bored of me," She said, looking deep into his eyes. "Who says I will?" "Keeping my distance from you, has meant that you've never quite achieved your goal, not in sixteen years. You always want most, the one thing you can't have. If I give you what we've both wanted, for longer than I care to remember, you'll stop wanting me, and I couldn't bear that." John found that he didn't know what to say. He understood her logic, but how could he convince her that he would never stop wanting her, never stop loving her, no matter how old and grey they both became. "I don't know how to convince you," He said, sounding utterly defeated. "How many has there been since Rachel Crawchek?" Jo asked, needing to know but at the same time not wanting to know. "Only one," He said, hoping that this might go some way to pleading his case. "Once in nearly three months, I'm impressed. For you, that's practically celibacy." "I think her name was Celia," He said, clearly trying to remember. "Oh, let me guess," Jo said dryly. "The Judges' convention you went too last month." "I was bored," He protested, making Jo smile in spite of her disapproval. "I just don't want you to get bored with me," She said, turning serious again. "Do you remember what it was like, all those years ago?" He asked her, suddenly hitting on the perfect way to prove his point. "Yes, of course I do," She said, a fond smile of remembrance turning up the corners of her mouth. "You were really quite shy when I first met you," He told her. "There you were, the most beautiful student in my Bar school seminar, who clearly had no idea just how beautiful she was." "Flattery will get you nowhere," She said sternly. "I remember the first time I kissed you," He continued. "Your lips were so soft, so full, that I just couldn't get enough of them. We were in my office, and the rain was blowing against the window, it being October. You said you had to pick up your children, which was when you told me about your husband, saying that this couldn't happen because he was terminally ill, and you couldn't do that to him. But you still came back." "And do you know just how many times I've loathed myself for doing precisely that?" She asked, but he just kept going. "All that week I thought about you, thought about all the wonderful things I would give anything to do to you." Jo couldn't quite prevent a small shiver of desire as he said this. "Then, when you appeared in my class the next week, you looked so tense, and all I wanted to do was to take all that stress away from you, and to give you a reason to relax. After the seminar, I summoned you to my office, to supposedly discuss your latest essay." Jo grinned. "I think you've been summoning me to your presence ever since." "I remember, you closed the door, and I walked over to you, putting my arms round you. Every fibre of you hummed with tension and nervousness. But when I kissed you, I could tell that you wanted it." "It was more than want," Jo said ruefully, his telling of her story now beginning to arouse her. "You said that your mother was going to pick up the children, which was your way of telling me what you wanted. We went to a hotel, one that wouldn't ask too many questions. Do you know, I can remember the feel, and the taste, of every inch of your body." Jo's pupils dilated with lust when she heard him say this. She could feel her body beginning to react to the inevitable lure of his words. "The little mole you have under your right breast, the small scar from having your appendix out, I remember everything. I remember, when I gave you oral, you said it was the first time anyone had done that for you." As he kissed her, the sweeping action of his tongue across her lower lip, made her memory of this tangible. "You tasted so divinely sweet," He continued, taking note of the flush of arousal in her cheeks. "And I remember how your internal muscles used to always twitch, just after orgasm." "John, stop it," She pleaded, her voice not entirely steady. "Why?" He asked, gently kissing her. "Because my resolve is gradually cracking, bit by bit, and whilst I know that was the point of the exercise, you really are making it harder and harder for me to say no." "I'm trying to show you that you don't need to say no," He said softly, his eyes locking with hers. "I love you, more than I have loved, or will love, anyone else in my life. You're the one point of continuity I have, the one thing that keeps me going. My life would mean very little to me if I didn't have you." For the first time since she'd known him, Jo knew that he was being utterly sincere with her. He clearly meant every word he was saying. But was that enough? "I need to know that you really do mean that, John." "Jo, you're the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning, and the last before I go to sleep. Yes, even when I am with somebody else." "That's praise indeed," She said with a broad smile. "I'm serious," He insisted. "Yes, I know you are," She replied, gently stroking his cheek. "I just..." She stopped, not quite knowing how to phrase what she wanted to say. "What?" He asked, holding her face still when she tried to avoid his gaze. "I'm not sure how much of it I want right now. I need to give myself time to get used to the idea, and though I know this will hurt you, I need to learn to trust you." She was right, it did hurt, but he also accepted that she needed to do this. "Anything that may, or may not happen between us, we take at your pace. I have absolutely no problem with that." She knew he was speaking the truth when he said this, because she could remember how he'd been all those years ago, insisting on knowing that she was sure as she could be that she wanted it.

They lay there for some time, doing nothing more adventurous than kiss each other, gently and lingeringly, Jo gradually allowing the waves of lust to build within her. It occurred to Jo that it must be nearly two in the morning, and that she had to work the next day, but this didn't stop her. They could hear the birds in the garden, perpetually singing because of the short summer nights. John kept his eyes fixed on her, ready to interpret any sign that she might want them to stop what they were doing. But when she took his hand, and led it to her breast, John thought that he couldn't possibly be happier. He hadn't touched her like this for sixteen years. The thin cotton of her nightie was still covering her, but it concealed nothing. As he gently moved his hand on her, grazing his thumb over her steadily hardening nipple, she gasped. "I remember the first time I did this to you," He said, his voice deep with tenderness. "How on earth do you remember so much, after so many?" She asked between kisses, every touch he gave her branding her skin. "Partly because every woman is different, but mostly because you were and you are, the only one I ever wanted to remember." A little while later, when John inched his hand inside the nightie, and began caressing Jo's skin, she moved out of his embrace. Thinking he must have done something wrong, John grinned when she swiftly removed the cotton barrier to her body. When she lay back down, she tried to pull the duvet back over her, but he put out a hand to stop her. "I've dreamt of this moment so often," He said as he gazed at her, not having seen this body unclothed for sixteen years. He ran a delicate finger over the afore mentioned mole, and traced the outline of each nipple, the darker skin of each areola crying out to be kissed. The renewed feel of his hands on her skin, brought back a host of memories for Jo. John wasn't the only one who could remember every detail of their liaison, every snatched moment, every stolen kiss. They had both been committing the crime of infidelity, both finding that form of escapism all too addictive. Her nipples were almost painfully hard by now, and Jo desperately wanted him to take his touching downwards. She thought he must have seen something in her face, a pleading in her eyes to further his total destruction of her resolve. He trailed his hand down over her hip, and began mapping small circles on her right thigh, almost as if he was asking permission. When she granted it, with the slight parting of her legs, he slipped his hand in between them. She really was just as he remembered her, and right now, a boiling, bubbling cauldron of desire, just waiting to be thoroughly consumed. As he removed a well lubricated finger from inside her, moving it up and over her clitoris, just as she used to like it, Jo let out a groan of pure ecstasy. She knew that the attraction she had for John would one day be fatal, and now she was being proved right. Having once tasted of this forbidden and most addictive fruit, she was irrevocably hooked, and had been on the proverbial wagon for the passed sixteen years. The feelings he was inducing in her, made her want to stretch out every muscle, and yet scrunch them all up at one and the same time. No man she'd slept with since John, had ever made her feel so deliciously naughty. As he gently slid three fingers inside her, using his thumb to continue massaging her clit, he said between kisses, "Would you like me to taste you?" "No," She said, though the thought clearly excited her. "This is fine for now. Besides, I want to see you." Taking her at her word, his hand gradually sped up, making her breath come in steadily more frantic gasps. Other than to have her arms around him, Jo hadn't made a single attempt to touch him, but John didn't mind. This night, and any that might follow, were for Jo. She clung even closer to him as her orgasm approached, squeezing his fingers where they still moved inside her, and her cries of pleasure turning into a storm of wracking sobs. Gently withdrawing his hand from her silky depths, John simply held her, occasionally kissing away some of the tears that were pouring down her cheeks. He'd wondered if she might have some sort of emotional reaction to this, it having been so long since they'd done anything like it. "I'm sorry," She said, eventually beginning to calm down. "That's perfectly all right," He said with a soft smile. "I just feel so, so..." She couldn't find the right word. "I know," He said gently. "Happy and confused and afraid, all in one go." "Something like that." After drying her eyes, Jo cuddled up against him, her beautifully naked curves making him feel as though he'd come home. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. "I'm being terribly selfish tonight," She said into his chest. "You're allowed to be," He said, realising that she was feeling a little guilty for not having given him any sort of release. "After all my years of philandering, I'd say it was your turn for a spot of unequivocal take." As they gradually drifted to sleep, Jo realised that it was perhaps this last remark, this affirmation that he was quite ready to wait until she wanted the rest of it, that went part of the way to convincing her that this time, he really was serious about his intentions towards her.

It only seemed a matter of seconds, until Jo's alarm clock woke them at seven. Stretching an arm out to switch it off, Jo realised that not only was she naked, but that John was lying beside her. Gradually, the events of the previous day began coming back to her. So, George was in hospital, and she, Jo, had gone as far as allowing John to give her an orgasm. The world really must be going mad. "Good morning," Came John's sleepy voice. "Did last night really happen?" Jo asked with a yawn. "Why," John asked with a laugh. "Are you trying to convince yourself it didn't?" "No, it just all seems a bit peculiar, that's all. First George ends up in hospital, and then I spend the night with you. I wonder how she is this morning." "I'll give the hospital a ring before court, which is going to have to be adjourned for at least today. We need to give the defence time to find a new barrister." "I'll try and pop into see her at lunchtime, but I might not be able to get away until this evening." "Can I join you in the shower?" John asked, glancing at the clock. "Sounds like a marvelous way to wake up," Jo said, stretching luxuriously at the prospect. "Oh, does it now?" John asked, reaching over to lay a warm hand on one of her breasts. "Mmm, definitely," Jo replied languorously, laying her hand over his, momentarily imprisoning it against her skin.

Picking Mimi up from Charlie, so that she wouldn't try to drop her off when he wasn't there and start asking questions, John took her with him to court, asking a perpetually willing Coope to look after her not only for the day, but for the entire weekend. When he explained that George was in hospital, Coope could see that something was not only worrying him, but making him inwardly furious. "And if Charlie rings when I'm not here, tell her I'm in a meeting with the Lord Chancellor, or The times again, anything to stop her asking awkward questions. I'm pretty sure that George wouldn't want Charlie to know where she is or why she's there." "What is wrong with Mrs. Channing, Judge?" "You can keep a confidence, can't you, Coope?" "I don't think you need to ask me that, Judge, not after all these years. I know more about your women than you do." John forced a smile at this slight reproof, his face then resuming its former angry expression. "The spineless cretin, who calls himself the secretary of state for trade, has been using her as a punch bag, ever since the end of the One Way case." "Oh, no," Coope replied, sounding genuinely sorry for George. "If I had my way," John continued. "He'd be in a cell, waiting for the scales of justice to swing down upon his head." "You know that isn't going to happen, Judge." "Yes, I know, which makes the legal system I've been working for, for the last thirty years, appear to be more corrupt than the Mafia. At least they have principles."

George had woken many times during the night, usually when she'd moved in her sleep, resulting either in the pulling of her stitches, or the flexing of numerous bruised muscles. This meant that she certainly wasn't at her best the next morning. Tricia had been into empty the drains and change the dressings, and George had barely exchanged a word with her. She felt sore, unwashed, and tired, not a combination to improve the mood of anyone, never mind a recalcitrant barrister with a legendary temper. When Ric came to see her, George found herself telling him some of the things that were bothering her. She didn't know what it was, but there was something in Ric that reminded her inexplicably of John. "I never look like this, not even on a bad day," She complained. "Is a shower really so out of the question?" "There was some concern," Ric said, sitting down beside her bed. "That you had been sexually assaulted." "Even if I was, which you do not need to know," George said quietly, though with no less bite in her tone. "It certainly didn't happen yesterday. So, I'm not carrying any evidence that might be destroyed." "Mrs. Channing..." "You've sewn up parts of my insides, so you may as well call me George." "George, whoever did this to you, needs to be punished. I wouldn't be wrong in thinking that this wasn't the first time, now would I." "Perhaps the political position of the man who did this to me, might tell you just how pointless such a thought really is," She said icily. "Political position or not, that doesn't give him immunity from punishment." "Not even if he is the current secretary of state for trade?" She said almost idly. Ric stared at her, clearly gobsmacked. "Now do you see how pointless taking photographs, or collecting any other evidence would be?" "Yes," He was eventually forced to admit. "But that doesn't make it right." "You sound just like John," She said with a smile. "What relation is he to you?" "John is my ex-husband, and Jo is his current unofficial attachment." "Good god," Said Ric in astonishment. "I wish I had such an amicable relationship with even one of my exes." "It hasn't always been like this, especially when you consider that I appear in court with both of them fairly often." "That sounds like a recipe for disaster," Ric said with feeling. "Yes, you could say that. So, seeing as there's no need for me to remain looking the way I do, please can I get rid of some of these tracking devices, and make myself look a little more presentable?" "Of course, but a shower is out of the question because of the drains, and the tracking devices stay put for now, so I'll ask Tricia to help you tidy yourself up a bit." Biting furiously down on the retort that she didn't require help to do anything, George realised that this was as good as she was going to get.

As court had been adjourned until next week, John thought he may as well go and see George that afternoon. As he strolled onto Keller, he saw a tired-looking Ric, Connie, and a doctor whom he didn't recognise, clustered around the desk, clearly looking at some X-rays. Ric looked up as he saw John approaching him, the expression on his face telling John that these were George's X-rays they were looking at. "Are those George's?" John asked as he reached them. "Yes," Ric answered, immediately shutting the folder so that John couldn't see. Then, to bring everyone up to speed, he said, "Diane, this is Mr. Justice Deed, one of George Channing's relatives, and this is my registrar, Diane Lloyd," He added for John's benefit. "Hmm," Connie said dryly. "The nurses were singing your praises all last night." "How is she?" John asked, ignoring Connie's jibe. "Restless, belligerent, and insistent on getting out of here." John laughed. "If she's arguing, she really is getting better, believe me. Can I see those?" He asked a little too casually. "We don't usually recommend showing a patient's X-rays to a relative," Diane said kindly, wanting to spare him the not very pretty sight. "Which tells me that I ought to see them," John insisted quietly. "Still on the hunt for admissible evidence?" Connie asked nonchalantly. "Would it be such a problem if I were?" John replied smoothly. "No," Connie said, fixing her gaze on his. "But if I perceive even so much as a hint, of the cross-examination I witnessed last night, I'll have you barred. Is that understood?" She'd said all this in such a quiet, casual tone, that John was momentarily taken aback by her threat. "Message received loud and clear, Mrs. Beauchamp," He replied, allowing no hint of his surprise to filter through in face or voice. "Though I think you might give me some credit, for being well versed in the handling of particularly, prickly, women." He spaced out the last three words, leaving her feeling really quite excited at the possible prospect of hooking a high court Judge. "Oh, I've no doubt," She replied, her eyes locking with his. Then, as she walked away, she threw back over her shoulder just to show him who was winning, "Don't forget what I said, in here, I lay down the law, not you." Turning his eyes back on Ric and Diane, John saw that Ric was smirking at him. To stop himself from laughing outright, Ric opened the folder, his face resuming its previously serious expression. "The black lines are used to show any fractures," He said, pointing to what looked like far too many. "She has three cracked ribs in her upper abdomen, plus two that are almost healed, meaning they were done some time ago. It was this one," He said, pointing to one of the fractures. "Which was responsible for her ruptured spleen. She also has one fracture up here," He added, pointing to the chest region. "Which slightly punctured her lung. If, and I say if, Mrs. Channing is to be let out earlier than I would normally recommend, though it certainly won't be today, my main concern would be that if she moves around too much, her fractured ribs could cause further damage. Quite why she is so determined to escape from here, I don't yet know, so perhaps you could try and find out for me. I may be wrong," He added as an afterthought. "But I think that the prospect of being confined to hospital, for even a few days, appears to frighten her." A light suddenly switched itself on in John's head. It had just dawned on him exactly why George didn't want to stay here any longer than she thought was absolutely necessary. "There may be a possible reason for this," He said carefully, not really wanting to discuss this in front of the entire ward. Taking the hint, Diane left them to it. Leading the way towards his office, Ric called over his shoulder to Tricia, and asked if she could make two coffees. "What did your last slave die of?" She quipped back, having always got on with Ric, ever since she was his PA. "Hard work," He told her with a smile.

When they were seated in his office, and Tricia had brought them the coffee, John said carefully, "As far as I am aware, the last time George was in hospital, was when our daughter, Charlie, was born. That was nearly twenty five years ago. It would be safe to say, that this was probably one of the worst experiences of her life, though she wouldn't thank me for telling you." "Was it a difficult birth?" "No, not especially, but George didn't take very well to motherhood. She found it very difficult to form any type of emotional bond with Charlie, and I suspect that being in hospital again, has brought back a lot of the feelings associated with what she perceived to be her one, significant failure. That, combined with the fact that her current lover has been verbally and physically castigating her, for failing to keep his corrupt government out of the shark pen, will only be adding to what she is feeling." "Yes, George did tell me precisely who had done this to her." "If I had my way, he would be behind bars, but the system unfortunately tends to look after those who champion its cause." "So, we appear to have something of a problem," Ric said, taking a grateful swig of his coffee. "I would be failing in my duty if I allowed her to go home too early, and I will be putting her psychological health in possible jeopardy if I don't." "What would be required, in order for her to come home, say in the next day or so?" "Well, for the secretary of state for trade, to have been forcefully ejected to start with." "Already accomplished," John replied, the fury at what Neil had done briefly showing in his eye. "I'm glad to hear it. But whilst this obviously removes the vast majority of the problem, there is no way I am letting George go home, if there is no one there to look after her. She will have to stay in bed for at least three days, and only get up when absolutely necessary. I don't want her doing anything that she doesn't have to. Any unnecessary or sudden movement, could cause the fractured ribs to pierce their surrounding organs." Without any hesitation, John said, "I don't have any intention of just leaving her to it, now that you've put her back together. I can certainly look after her for a few days, and after the way things appear to have gone this week, I might even have some help." "There is also the fact that this isn't entirely my decision to make," Ric continued, seeing the flicker of a sincere feeling of responsibility in John's eyes. "The chest cavity is Mrs. Beauchamp's domain. I will have to discuss all this with her, before I decide anything. However, I expect to be able to remove George's drains this afternoon, so we'll see after that. When you talk to her, tell her that it is being considered."

When John went into George's room, she had removed a notebook from her handbag, and was clearly making some notes on a case. "I hardly think that work comes into the category of convalescence," He said, removing the notebook from her hand and putting it out of her reach. George looked up in irritation. "I was bored," She said succinctly. "And I doubt you'd behave any better if you were in here instead of me. Oh, no, I forgot, you'd be trying to pull every nurse and doctor in sight." "Well, admittedly, I wouldn't mind getting to know that utterly sensational consultant in Cardiothoracics, but she is currently off limits." "You're surely not telling me that you are finally trying to be faithful to Jo?" "Even I can achieve the impossible if I try," He said, sitting down in the chair beside her bed. "Jo said that she would try to get in at lunchtime, but if she couldn't, she would definitely be in this evening." George was touched. "Jo's been awfully nice to me this week, when I've done absolutely nothing to deserve it." "You'd be surprised," He said with a smile. "What you did at the end of the One Way case was what did it. The look on your face, when you agreed to the settlement, was the most genuine thing Jo's ever seen in you. I think we could both tell that you regretted ever having taken that case on. If someone realises the error of their ways, and does something to try and put it right, that means an awful lot to Jo. Why do you think she's kept putting up with me all these years?" "You don't know how many times I've regretted taking on that case," She said, her voice so tight and defensive, that John could tell just how difficult it was for her to keep on holding it together. "We all make mistakes," He said, gently running a finger over the back of her hand. "Me more than most." "You're different from last night," She said, trying to get her voice under control. "You haven't yet taken the opportunity to start questioning me again." John gave her a rueful smile. "Ah, well, I was reliably informed, that if I attempted to brow beat you for a second time, I would be barred from the hospital." Without thinking, George began to laugh, and then struggled to stop from the pain it caused her. "Yes," John said dryly. "I thought you might find that funny. I also wasn't about to start in on you, without your bodyguard to keep me in check. Jo was quite cross with me for the way I behaved last night." Finally forcing herself to meet his gaze, George said, "I'm sorry, that I didn't tell you about Neil. I know I should have done, and I know I was stupid to think I could deal with it myself." John had been about to reply, when the door opened, revealing Ric and Connie. "We've come to see about removing your drains," Connie said in explanation. "Was it you who threatened to ban his Lordship here?" George asked. "Of course," Connie replied, giving her a smile. "I thought he needed reminding who was in charge round here. I don't think it did him any harm, do you?" She added conspiratorially. "Oh, certainly not," George drawled in satisfaction. Ric and John simply exchanged amused glances. "Once we've removed the drains," Connie said, turning serious again. "We should be able to put an estimation on when you can be allowed home." "You don't need to stay for this, John," George said, badly not wanting him to see her bruised and battered body. "It's not as if I haven't seen it all before," He objected mildly. "Not looking like this, you haven't, so go and get yourself a coffee or something, please," She added, her politeness so unfamiliar to him, that it achieved the instant result of his departure.

When John had left, and Ric had closed the door behind him, he and Connie moved over to the bed. "That was a very neat dismissal," Connie said, gently drawing back the covers, to reveal George clad in a clean hospital gown. "He's not used to me being even vaguely polite to him," George replied, as Connie reached to push a little of the gown aside, so that she could gain access to the chest drain under George's right arm. She jumped as Connie touched the skin just behind her right breast. "Try and relax," Connie said calmly. "I need you to stay very still." George bit down on her lip, to stop her from making a sound as the chest drain was removed, and as Connie placed a dressing over the small wound. But as Ric raised the lower half of her gown, George squeezed her eyes shut, and they could both see her cringe away from his touch. She gasped as his very male hands touched her skin, holding her in place to remove the drain. Looking down, Connie saw that George was gripping the side of the bed, clearly in an effort to prevent herself from pushing him away. Gently prising her fingers away from the mattress, Connie held onto George's hand, softly chafing it between her own. When Ric had completed his task, he looked up, to see that there were silent tears pouring down George's cheeks. Working in complete harmony for a change, they lowered her gown back into place, and drew the covers around her. "Are you all right?" Connie asked, loathing the inanity of the question. "I think I just need to be left alone for a while," George said, feeling thoroughly silly at her outburst. "Okay, but if you need anything, just shout," Connie replied as they moved towards the door.

As they were walking down the corridor, Ric suddenly kicked out savagely at a trolley that was standing against the wall. "Hey, what's got into you?" Connie asked, never having seen such a reaction from him. "I don't enjoy feeling, as though I am violating my patient's personal space," He said angrily. "I know," Connie said sadly. "And it's not like you to get so involved." "No, you don't know, Connie, because you're a woman. How? How can anyone be capable of doing that? How can a, what I assume to be normally vibrant, beautiful, incredibly intelligent woman, be reduced to a nervous wreck, who can't even bear to have her surgeon touch her?" #"Because unfortunately, that's the way of the world," Connie said matter-of-factly. "Things like this do happen, which is why there are people like you, and like me, who are here to pick up the pieces. That's how it works." "Well, it shouldn't," He said stubbornly. "It sounds like you need a bit of good, old fashioned TLC to me," Connie said in a soft, sultry voice, her invitation very clear. "If I had anything like the energy," He replied with a smile. "I'd take you up on it. But seeing as you appear to have assigned me twenty hours out of every twenty four this week, I'll have to decline." Just then, they became aware that John was watching them from where he stood at the nurses' station, clearly having witnessed the entire scene. As he came towards them, Ric realised just how unprofessional he must have looked. "How is she?" John asked as he reached them. "I think she could do with some space," Connie said carefully. "Has she told you any more about what happened to her?" John asked, though from what he'd heard, he now thought he knew most of it. "Anything said to me in assumed confidence," Ric said placatingly. "You know I can't share with you." "How am I supposed to help her, if I don't know what's been happening to her?" "You are," Connie said gently, seeing real concern in his eyes. "You're helping her just by being here," She qualified. "She's lucky to have you."

George had cried herself to sleep when they'd gone, the exhaustion finally catching up with her. When she awoke about an hour later, John was sitting by her side, just holding her hand and watching her. "You still here?" She asked drowsily. "I talked Sr. Williams into letting me stay passed official visiting time." "Typical," George said through a yawn. "What time is it?" "About a quarter past four. How do you feel?" "Tired, and sore, and feeble. Does it sound stupid, to say that I could really do with a cuddle, but that I don't want anyone near me?" "No, it doesn't," John replied, his voice barely above a whisper, because he could feel the tears swimming in his eyes. It hurt him immeasurably that she couldn't let herself be given what she clearly needed. "Oh, John, don't cry," She said, not having seen him do this for a very long time. As she made to pull herself into a sitting position, she winced as it pulled at her stitches. Immediately, his arms shot out to help her, gently pulling her against him, so that she lay with her head on his shoulder with her arms round him. "Now listen to me," She said, wiping away a stray tear with a finger. "You are doing everything you can for me, just by being here. You never thought you'd here me say that again, did you, but it's true. I don't remember asking them to phone you, but I must have done it for a reason." "I just wish you'd told me before this," He said, feeling that he should have known, he should have seen something. "I know," She said, gently stroking his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't Jo tell me?" "Jo didn't tell you, because I practically begged her not to, and I didn't tell you, because that would have meant telling you, that I'd screwed up yet again. You picked up the pieces after Charlie, and I didn't want to need you to do it again. This was a mess purely of my own making, so it was up to me to get myself out. Neil has even more power than you, John, which means that simply walking away was never possible, and we both know that that's what you would have told me to do." "You know me too well," He said, playing with a tendril of her hair. "I've had enough practice," She said fondly. "I was talking to Mr. Griffin earlier, and he is considering allowing you home in the next day or so. But if he does, he says that you're going to need someone to look after you. I was wondering if you'd be prepared to put up with me for a few days." "I don't want you to feel as though you have to," She said, not feeling in any way deserving of the attention he was bestowing on her. "I don't," He said simply. "But it's either that, or staying here until at least Tuesday or Wednesday, and who knows, I might even have Jo to help me." George gave him a lopsided smile. "Now that really would be weird, seeing Jo in my house. But if you're sure, yes, that would be nice."

Hours later, when John and JO were again lying in her bed, they were talking about George, the combination of subject matter and environment striking Jo as utterly surreal. "She seemed a bit happier tonight," Jo observed, having gone to see George that evening, and John having still been there. "She's still not telling me anything," He grumbled. "Some people don't talk about that sort of thing for years, John, so give her time." "What makes it possible, Jo?" He demanded vehemently. "What makes it all too easy, for a corrupt cabinet minister, to escape punishment for doing something so despicable?" "Because any government, no matter how democratic and supposedly transparent it may be, will always take steps to look after its own." "But that's just plain wrong!" He replied, letting his fury at the injustice of the situation take him over. "John, you're preaching to the converted," Jo said quietly, trying to calm him down. "I'm sorry," He said, gently kissing her. "God knows where I'd be now, if I didn't have you to knock some sense into me once in a while. But I can't help loathing the fact that there's very little I can really do to help her." "What exactly do you feel for her these days, John?" Jo asked, though knowing she probably shouldn't. "I love her for having given me Charlie," He said without hesitation. "I care deeply for her, even though she drives me to distraction on a regular basis." Jo smiled when he said this. "But most of all, I feel responsible for her. I always have, and I probably always will. Why?" "I just wondered," She said, thinking that it wouldn't do him any harm whatsoever, to feel responsible for something or someone occasionally. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about where George is concerned," He said, correctly interpreting her unvoiced question. "Far too much water has gone under the bridge, for either me, or George, to love each other in that way again. She would tell you exactly the same." As they drifted to sleep in each other's arms, Jo wondered if, for the first time in all these years, she and George might, perhaps, be able to finally lay the past to rest. 


	3. Part Three

Part Three

When John and Jo arrived on the Saturday afternoon, George was looking a lot more alert, which also meant that her feeling of restlessness had increased. Tricia looked relieved to see them when they approached the desk. "I'm glad you two have arrived," She said with a rueful smile. "I'm hoping you might have more success in making her stay still." "Oh, dear," Jo said with sympathy. "I know hospitals aren't very nice places," Tricia continued, walking with them towards George's room. "But you'd think she'd want to get better, instead of trying to undo all Mr. Griffin's work." "Is Mr. Griffin about?" John asked. "He's in theatre at the moment, but I'll tell him you're here when he comes out." When they went into George's room, she was again furiously writing in the notebook John had removed from her the day before. "I see you aren't behaving yourself," He said sternly. "And do you have any idea just how many things I was supposed to do this coming week?" "I don't care how many cases supposedly require your attention," Tricia said with a frown. "You, need, your, rest. Your blood pressure is already too high, and if it doesn't start coming down right now, you won't be going anywhere. So, no more work or that notebook gets put through the shredder in Ric's office. Is that understood?" "I feel like I'm back at school," George complained, steadfastly ignoring Jo's inability to hide her amusement. When Tricia had gone, Jo said, "I take it you're bored?" "Not really, just frustrated. Most of the time, I feel utterly exhausted, but I just can't seem to relax. So, I'm trying to channel some of what I suppose is nervous energy, into doing something useful." "So, you're still intent on getting out of here then?" John asked, hoping that she might have changed her mind. "If your offer still stands, yes." "Of course. But don't expect that I will permit you to be anywhere near your computer," He said firmly. "Would I?" she asked far too sweetly. "Yes," He said without ranker. "If you thought you could get away with it." "All I want, is to get out of here, go home, and go to sleep in my own bed. I haven't thought any further than that." 

When Ric and Connie emerged from theatre, they paused at the nurses' station between Keller and Darwin, to check up on any changes since they'd been taken away from the ward. "Mrs. Channing was asking to see you," Tricia told Ric. "I think she's still determined to get out of here today." "I'm still not convinced that it's such a good idea," He said to Connie, as they walked towards George's room. "We wouldn't be trying to cover our, very handsome back a little too carefully, would we?" Connie asked him mockingly, as she ran a fingernail down his shirt-covered spine. "And yours," He said with a smile. Then, lowering his voice to the seductive level that had caught her attention on her very first day, he added, "Though it's not your back that is usually uppermost in my mind." "Oh, I know," She said confidently. "You just think of me on my back." Ric stifled a laugh as they approached the door of George's room. "But with regards to Mrs. Channing," Connie reverted to the topic in hand. "I'm going to cut her a deal." "Are you serious?" Ric asked, looking forward to seeing proof of this. "Are you saying I can't do deals?" Connie asked mischievously. "Connie, your deals usually involve those who are paid to be at your beck and call and submit to your every whim. But if you think you can persuade our resident QC into behaving herself, then far be it from me to stop you." 

As they entered George's room, Ric could see that she looked a lot happier than she had earlier. "Talking seems to do you good," He observed, provoking a smirk from Jo. George was never so happy as when she was talking. "I'm not very good at doing nothing," George replied, as if Ric didn't know this already. "Well, if we do allow you home," Connie put in. "I want an assurance that you really will do absolutely nothing for a few days." "Oh, don't worry," George told her with a sideways look at John. "Not even Tricia would have the edge on how determined I suspect John will be to keep me still." "I'm glad to hear it. But just so that we are all clear on the deal I intend to strike with you," Connie said, fixing her gaze unwaveringly on George's. "You will not get out of bed, except to go to the bathroom. You will, under no circumstances, attempt to do any work over the next three days, at the absolute minimum, and you will not attempt to cause yourself any further stress. You need to understand the risk you are taking, by discharging yourself earlier than either I or Mr. Griffin would usually recommend for someone with your injuries. If you try to do too much too soon, you could far too easily cause yourself further problems, such as internal bleeding, or either form of pneumothorax. This is when air, or blood gets into the chest cavity, and which can result in the collapsing of a lung. The other assurance I require from you is that if you detect any possible deterioration in your condition, I want you back in hospital without delay. However, if you still want to go home after hearing all that, I am happy to allow it." "I accept," George replied seriously. "You strike a fair bargain, Mrs. Beauchamp." "Good," Connie said again. "I'll leave you in Mr. Griffin's capable hands, but I would like to see you some time on Tuesday, just to check you over." When Connie had gone, George said to no one in particular, "If Mrs. Beauchamp is ever in court, remind me to represent the other side. I'd give anything to verbally tangle with her." Ric laughed. "You wouldn't," He said mildly. "If you had to do it on a daily basis. Now, the only other issue to be considered, is that of your current pain." "Which is just about manageable if I don't laugh or breathe too deeply," George replied. "Then I don't think that orally administered pain relief is going to be sufficient for you. The pain of cracked ribs is really quite difficult to manage, because it is affected constantly by breathing. Also, when did you last eat?" George's whole body when still at this perfectly innocuous question, all except her eyes, which moved rapidly over everything in the room, refusing to meet the gaze of any of them. It reminded John of the day he'd shown her what One Way's CEO had planted on his computer. "Is it such a difficult question to answer?" Ric prompted gently, wondering if there was something John hadn't told him, about George's behaviour after the birth of their daughter. "Tuesday," George said eventually, maintaining a steady eye meet with the drip stand next to her bed. "Any special reason?" Ric probed insistently. "No," George said defensively, all her barriers immediately going back up. Then, she surprised them all by saying, "John, don't look at me like that." "How do you know how I'm looking at you?" He answered. "You can't even see me." "Perhaps not, but I can feel the disapproval coming at me in waves." "In that case," Ric put in before they could start arguing. "I am going to add another condition to Connie's little list. You must start eating again. Do it gradually, because any vomiting will only aggravate your stitches, and as your stomach is likely to be sensitive for the next few days, oral pain relief is definitely out of the question." Looking over at Jo and John, he asked, "I don't suppose either of you has ever given an injection?" Jo's eyes widened. Yes, she certainly had, though not for sixteen years, not since her husband had been terminally ill, and she'd been nursing him at home. "Yes, though not for a long time," Jo replied quietly. Then, at George's wide-eyed stare, she clarified. "I nursed my husband at home when he was dying of cancer, so I had to administer his pain relief." "How long ago was this?" Ric asked. "About sixteen years ago." On hearing this and realising when that had been in terms of hers and John's marriage breakdown, George took a breath to speak, and then didn't know what she could say. "Then the first thing we need to do, is to make sure you can still do it." "Jo," George put in before Ric could continue. "Are you sure you're happy about doing this? If it's something that will bring back bad memories for you, then don't do it." Both John and Jo were incredibly touched at George's uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. "It's fine," Jo said, meeting George's gaze to show her she was serious. "If you're sure you want me to do that for you." This was a difficult one for George. The last thing she wanted from anyone was touch, and especially the kind of intimate, if professional, touch that would be involved in being given an injection. "Yes, thank you," She said, hoping that she would be able to keep her fear of it from Jo when the time came. "This might be a stupid question," John enquired, feeling a little left out of the conversation. "But how on earth does one practice the giving of injections?" "On an orange," Ric said succinctly. "Orange peel more accurately resembles the tension of human skin than anything else." "That's how I was taught last time," Jo told him. Then John looked at his watch. "What time are you due to see Michael?" He asked. "In about three quarters of an hour," Jo said, also looking at her watch. "Michael?" George asked, not having a clue who they were talking about. "Michael Hulsey," Jo clarified. As Ric bore Jo away to find an orange and a spare syringe, George asked, "Is Jo really all right about doing this?" "She'd have said so if she wasn't," John replied, thinking that this submission from George to the one thing Jo could do for her that he couldn't, would either further their friendship, or cut it off before it had barely begun. 

A good while later, when Jo had left to see Michael, having proved her competency at giving injections and saying that she would be over later, George was told that once the necessary drugs arrived from the pharmacy, she could go home. Having asked John to leave her to it, George began the slightly arduous task of putting her clothes on. She couldn't believe she was so stiff, partly from the bruises and cracked ribs, and partly from having been in bed for the best part of two days. Tricia had offered her help, but George had politely though firmly declined. The day that she needed help to do something as simple as getting dressed, she knew she would be finally over the hill. But when she reached her bra, she knew she'd found only the first of today's many hurdles. The usual, supple flexibility of the joints and muscles that allow a woman to fasten these things, just didn't exist in George right now. She bit down on her lower lip in an effort not to cry out at the protest from her muscles. But try as she might, she just couldn't do it. She couldn't decide which was worse, the stress on her bruises, or the pull of her stitches. When Connie put her head round the door, she saw what George was struggling to do. "Are you all right?" She asked, coming in and closing the door. "No, I'm bloody not," Said George through gritted teeth. Stepping forward, Connie took the clasps from George's hands and swiftly fastened them. Holding out George's blouse that lay on the bed, she took a quick, appraising glance of her body. "Doesn't look very good, does it," George said bitterly. "It will do," Connie replied, standing back to allow George to continue getting dressed. "Especially if you start eating properly again." George stopped still in her tracks, having done up half the buttons on her blouse. "Oh," She said, looking guilty and belligerent. "Did John tell you?" "No," Connie replied casually. "At least not about that. He did tell Mr. Griffin about what happened when your daughter was born, because he thought that was why you might be so eager to escape from hospital." "Oh, did he," George said icily, inwardly cursing John's far too open nature. "It is perfectly understandable," Connie said slowly. "For one to wish to escape from any reminders of what they perceive to be their one, significant failure. Did you stop eating after your daughter was born?" "For a while," George admitted, refusing to look Connie in the eye. "And has it become your coping mechanism for other things?" "Is this really necessary?" George asked, not wanting to be impolite, but feeling that Connie was treading far too knowingly over ground where she really didn't belong. "I'm not sure when," Connie began to explain, as she sat down in a chair opposite George. "But at some point fairly recently, you definitely suffered a very serious assault, and I'm not just talking about the injuries we've treated you for this week. I know that, by your reaction to Mr. Griffin touching you yesterday." "I feel so stupid about that," George said in disgust. "You shouldn't," Connie said gently. "Now, how many times this has happened, I couldn't begin to say, but going by the fact that your assailant was living with you, I'll assume that it wasn't only the once. What I don't want you to do, is to stop eating as a reaction to everything that has happened this week. Mr. Griffin tells me that you haven't eaten since Tuesday, which does give me cause for concern. The only way you are going to physically recover is to start looking after yourself again. As for how you mentally and emotionally recover from it, that is for you to do in your own way, and in your own time. If you don't want to talk about what happened to you, then don't. There is absolutely nothing saying that you have to give in to Mr. Justice Deed's questioning, just because he is looking after you and clearly cares a lot for you. You quite obviously didn't have a choice about what happened to you, but you do have a choice about how you deal with it now." When Connie finished speaking, George just stared at her from where she sat on the edge of the bed. No one had spoken quite so gently or so kindly to her, for such a long time. She had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone show her this level of kindness, when it didn't follow that they would get something in return. "Thank you," George said, eventually finding her voice. "And thank you for everything you've done." "I believe that's what we're here for," Connie said, never quite knowing how to take gratitude from a patient. "Now, I expect that his Lordship is getting impatient waiting for you," She added, back to her usual business-like tone. But as George began to get up, Connie held out a hand, telling her to stay there for the moment. When she returned, she was followed by Tricia pushing a wheelchair. "Absolutely not," George said determinedly. "Yes," Connie replied firmly. "There's practically a mile's worth of corridors before you get to the outside." "That's how we all stay so slim and beautiful," Tricia told her. Admitting a grudging defeat, George submitted to their combined force of will. But as Tricia pushed her down the long, winding corridors, with John walking beside them, George inwardly thanked Connie for being so insistent. She would never have had the energy to walk this far. 

They were silent in the car, John not really knowing what to say to her, and George unable to stop thinking about what she would find when she got home. Yes, she had managed to achieve her escape, but what was it really going to be like for her to be in that house, to sleep in that bed. She said none of this to John, because she knew it would make her sound unbearably stupid. John was well aware that her thoughts were somewhere else, but he found himself incapable of broaching the subject. He could feel her tension, but he had no idea how to alleviate it. When he pulled up in her driveway, he gently touched her hand to get her attention. "Are you all right?" He asked, clearly dragging her from some inner contemplation. "Yes," She said, suddenly noticing where they were. As they walked up the three steps to the front door, John tried to put an arm round her for support. Immediately, George moved out of his reach, the look on her face one of combined fear and apology. Neither of them said anything as John fitted her key in the door and they walked into the house, but George found herself feeling a mixture of guilt and weakness. None of this was John's fault, so why did she feel that inexplicable urge to avoid his touch? As she moved towards the lounge, she caught sight of the bloodstain on the wall, the one that neither John nor Neil had been able to remove. As she stared at it, a host of memories that she'd been trying to banish came back to her. Instantly seeing this, John gently turned her about and guided her towards the stairs, temporarily removing her from the uncut screening of her own horror film. John followed her up the stairs, and put the bag down in her bedroom. It had been a very long time since he'd been in here, except for having collected some things for her the other day, but very little seemed to have changed. The decor was still the same, though obviously looking more recent than the days of their marriage. As George sank down to sit on the edge of the bed, John asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" "Yes please," She answered. "But the first thing I intend to do, is to have the longest, hottest shower I've ever had in my life." Just as she said this, George realised what she was sitting on. "You changed the bedding," She said in surprise. "I thought you might prefer as many reminders of him as possible to be removed," John said carefully, knowing that such things as the smell of one's aftershave, could remain on bedclothes for days. "Thank you," She said, feeling that she could have done with some of his sensitivity a long time ago. As she began removing things from her bag and putting them away, he just stood and watched her, knowing that too many offers of help would irritate her to distraction. But as she began taking her clothes off, he stared in abject horror at the cuts and bruises that were revealed. "Instead of staring at me," She said curtly, taking note of his critical appraisal. "You might make yourself useful and undo this for me." As she turned her back to him, and he swiftly undid her bra, the thoughts were whirling round in his head. How could any man do this to a woman? How? What would a man have to have in him, to give him the capability to do something like this? Putting out a hand, John turned her to face him, taking in the full picture of her bruised and battered body. "Don't," She pleaded. "It really isn't a pretty sight." Looking up into his face, she could see the combination of raw pain and sheer fury in his eyes. "Don't look like that," She added softly. "I am reliably informed that it will heal." "But it shouldn't have happened in the first place," John said vehemently. "I know, but it did, and there is nothing you, or I, can do about it." 

Half an hour later, when he took a cup of tea upstairs for her, she was sitting in front of the mirror, clad in a plain cotton nightie and drying her hair. Removing the brush and the hairdryer from her, he took over. It occurred to both of them, that he would have done exactly the same for Charlie, when she was a little girl, saying far better than any words, that he thought George needed looking after. When he'd switched off the hairdryer, and she'd put it away in the drawer, she still sat on the stool, contemplating her face in the mirror. Her lip was partly healed, but the skin under her eyes was still very discoloured. "George, talk to me," John urged gently, thinking that now might be the right time for this very difficult conversation. "I can't, at least not about most of it," She said, refusing to meet his gaze. "Why?" He didn't want to force her into it, but he did want her to start letting some of it out. "Because I feel so, ashamed," She said, hesitating over the choice of the adjective. "I'm not going to think any less of you," He said cajolingly. "That's just the point though, isn't it," George said bitterly. "You will, I know you will." "Okay, so start with what you can tell me. When did he first hit you?" "Do you remember the Tracy Spink trial, over a year ago?" "As if I'll ever forget it," John said disgustedly. "The government nobbled the jury and bribed one of the main witnesses to give false or inadmissible evidence. Why?" "And do you remember, that I managed to help you find out what they were up to?" "You're surely not telling me that he hit you over something like that?" "Not entirely. John, you know what I'm like when I get started, giving up an argument just isn't something I do. I think he did it the first time, just to shut me up. He demanded to know why I'd told you what I did, and we got into a row. I loathed what they'd done with that trial, and in my infinitely bloody-minded way, I wouldn't let it go. Oddly enough, I understand why he did it the first time, because he was losing the argument, and if there's one thing Neil could never bear, it was to lose a disagreement. I suspect he's always been a bad loser. What thoroughly confused me, was that even during the worst of the arguments we've ever had, you've never once raised your hand to me." "I wouldn't, I couldn't," John insisted vehemently. "But why?" George asked with total sincerity. "You're surely not telling me that you've never wanted a quick and easy way to shut me up, in all the time we've known each other?" "George, no matter how many times you've driven me insane over the years, I've never once had the need or the urge to slap you." "Ah, but that's because verbally, you are my equal, if not more than, whereas Neil certainly doesn't possess the verbal dexterity of either of us. So, he had to resort to some other way of getting what he wanted from me, whether it was simply to keep me quiet, or to get me to take on the One Way case. All through every conference I had involving that case, I tried to do anything that would keep the peace, because I knew that if Neil became in any way rattled by Max Solveigh or Tim Listfield, I would bear the brunt of it." "I'd like to wring his neck," John said almost savagely. "Well, you can't," George said flatly, and he could see that the tone of his voice had frightened her. "So, what provoked Thursdays sudden outburst?" "Now, that really was my fault," George said wearily. "George, how many times do I have to tell you, that this is not your fault?" "A good deal more, for me to even think of believing you," She said, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror. "I was getting to breaking point this week, probably because someone had finally found out what was going on. I really wasn't sure how much more of it I could deal with. I think I knew that if I threatened to tell you, he would do far worse than he'd ever done before. Either he would put me in hospital, in which case I would have to tell you because of Charlie, and because of the case we were in the middle of. Or, I would be dead, which would mean it would all be over." Her voice had lost some of its strength as she said this, the risk she had taken finally catching up with her. "So, that's what I did. I can't even remember what we were originally arguing about on Thursday evening, but when I leveled that threat at him, he completely lost it. He's always been somewhat afraid of you, you know, and he couldn't face the thought of coming under your cosh, or losing his public position. I know you won't want to hear it, but I remember thinking that if he did actually kill me, it would be something of a relief." By this time, tears of emotional pain, total release, and sheer exhaustion were pouring down her face. Gently putting his arms round her, he held her as she clung to him, burying her face in his chest. Her body shook with half-suppressed sobs that at first she couldn't control. For a long time they stayed like this, George still sitting on the stool before the mirror, clinging to John as he stood by her side. He remembered the last time she'd clung to him so desperately, when they'd thought that Charlie was dead, and had then realised that she was still alive. She had needed him then, more than he could ever have known. He remembered how blase she'd been about her relationship with Neil, even in those early days, saying that she would have had more fun with a church minister, rather than the cabinet minister she had flaunted in front of him. He now understood why she could never have told him, because this would have meant her admitting that she'd yet again got it wrong, when he had loathed and despised Neil from the start. But to take such a risk, to gamble with her own life like that. It frightened the hell out of him just to think about it. 

When Jo arrived a few hours later, John was sitting in the lounge reading the paper, but he kept reading the same pages over and over again, his thoughts drifting back to everything George had said. It caused him an enormous amount of pain that she hadn't been able to tell him what she'd been going through, and he knew that he didn't have the first idea of how to make it better for her. When he heard Jo's car draw up, he went to let her in. She could see that something was bothering him, and they just stood in the hall for a moment holding each other. "How is she?" Jo asked, when they eventually drew apart. "Asleep, the last time I looked, but I was going to take her a cup of tea in a while." "Have you talked to her?" "Yes, but she won't tell me much, at least not about the worst of it. I was wondering if you might have a go." "I'll try, John, but I'm making no promises. The worst thing to do would be to rush her. She's not going to give in and tell all, just to satisfy your curiosity." "You know this has been going on since the Tracy Spink trial?" "But that was well over a year ago." "I know, and I saw absolutely nothing." "Nor did Charlie, nor did her father, nor did anyone," Jo reminded him quietly. 

When Jo went upstairs carrying two cups of tea, she found that George was still asleep, but clearly in the middle of some horrific dream. After putting the mugs down on the dressing-table, Jo approached the bed. George was feverishly tossing and turning, and murmuring any number of indecipherable pleas. But it was when the words, "Neil", "Please", and "No", reached her that Jo decided it was time for George to wake up. "George," She called gently, which achieved no response. Putting out a hand, JO lightly touched George's shoulder. Immediately turning over onto her back, George began to struggle. When George opened her eyes, Jo was taken aback by the sheer terror in them. Clearly thinking that it was Neil leaning over her, George tried to push Jo away, all the time pleading with her to stop. "George, it's me, it's Jo," Jo told her, taking hold of the hands that had been trying to push her away. Whether it was her gentle touch or her quite obviously female voice, Jo wasn't sure, but something seemed to penetrate George's terrified mind. When George slowly focused her gaze on Jo, she tried to get her breathing under control, but this was impeded by her cracked ribs, which at the moment were protesting against her unconscious movements. "Try to calm down," Jo said persuasively, softly stroking George's hands. "I'm sorry about that," George said eventually, feeling extremely stupid. "It's being back in this bed, isn't it," Jo guessed, thinking that George had probably underestimated what it would be like for her to be back in this house, that's if she'd thought about it at all in her drive to escape from hospital. "Probably," George admitted. "But I had to do it, I had to get out of there." "I know," Jo said softly. "Being in hospital, reminded you of when Charlie was born, didn't it." "John seems to have been telling everyone about that this week," George replied bitterly. "He's worried about you." "Well, he shouldn't be. Quite why he still worries about me after all these years and everything I've put him through, is beyond me." George's voice was becoming more strident, more filled with self-loathing, and Jo could see her face twisting with pain. "Are you in pain?" Jo asked, as George clearly wasn't about to say so. "It'll pass," George said with a grimace. "Doesn't look like it," Jo said, reaching for the pharmacy bag on the dressing-table that contained the prepacked injections. "Don't," George said, stopping her. "Why?" Jo was genuinely mystified. "Isn't that bloody obvious?" George demanded through gritted teeth. "I don't want you to touch me, I don't want anyone to touch me. It's bad enough that you're seeing me like this, never mind seeing bits of me that I would really rather no one did." Then, after a short silence, she asked, "Where does it go?" "In the top of your thigh," Jo replied, knowing this wasn't going to go down very well. "Then you can forget it," George said stonily. "I'd rather deal with the pain." "You could always do it yourself," Jo suggested, feeling no insult at George's words. If she'd been through what George had, she didn't think she would want someone touching the top of her thigh either. "I doubt I could even hold a pen steady at the moment, never mind a needle." "You'd be a useless junky," Jo told her, trying to lighten the situation. "I don't doubt it," George said bitterly. "I'll be very gentle," Jo said after a while, seeing that George wasn't going to be able to cope with this amount of pain for much longer. George had been screwing her eyes up in agony, but now she made an effort to focus on Jo. "You do understand why I don't want you to do this, don't you," She said eventually. "Yes," Jo replied gently, wanting to put George at her ease as much as possible. "Fine, just don't look at anything you don't have to." 

When JO drew back the duvet and lifted the corner of the nightie that covered her right thigh, George turned her face away from her, not wanting Jo to see her reaction to this. Having unwrapped the prepared syringe, she rested a hand on George's thigh to keep it still. George jumped when Jo touched her, but neither of them acknowledged this. George's skin was soft and warm, it occurring to Jo that the toned muscle of George's thighs, still hadn't been strong enough, to prevent Neil from thrusting them apart to take what he wanted. George didn't make a sound at the slight prick of the needle, but when the pain-killing drug began to creep through her veins, she did begin to relax. As Jo covered her up, and put the empty syringe in its packet to dispose of it later, she thought that now, with the drug making George a little drowsy, she might be able to persuade her to talk. But Jo didn't need to do any persuading. "You know, it was always a power thing with Neil," She began, her face still turned away from Jo. "Never a sex thing. That's what he lusted after, power to achieve anything that suited him. He just couldn't bear it when things didn't go his way." "That doesn't give him any excuse to do what he did, George," Jo put in quietly. "No, I know," She said, adjusting her position slightly and finally looking up at where Jo sat facing her on the end of the bed. "He was so angry, when John took over the One Way case. He kept thrusting home to me, just how much he thought that John had taken it on, out of some personal vendetta against him. I was desperate for John to recuse himself, not because of you, but because of Neil. Even I'm prepared to admit that you're far more professional, than to allow any relationship with john to get in the way. But no, it was far too much to ask for, a quiet life." Jo could see tears in George's eyes, and briefly wondered how both she and John had missed what had been going on behind the scenes. "The first time he... god, I can't even say it, was when he was trying to persuade me to take on the One Way case. First, he tried to dangle the quarter of a million fee in front of me, but having looked at all the arguments, I didn't want anything to do with it. One Way were obviously in the wrong, and I wasn't about to commit career suicide, just to keep Neil and his cronies out of the firing line. Then he started goading me, demanding to know if I was losing my touch, if I wasn't prepared to take it on, because I was professionally over the hill. It's funny, but when I was married to John, we always tried to leave any arguments outside the bedroom. It was a sort of unspoken agreement that they had to be over by the time we went to bed. But Neil had no such scruples. He kept on and on at me, until I finally snapped, telling him that never in a million years would I take on such a morally corrupt case. He wanted to know why I'd suddenly changed my tune, and said that I was starting to sound a little too much like John. That's when I said that at least John had principles, and didn't just keep to them when it suited him. That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever said in my life. He totally lost it when I said that. He said that if there was one thing he could do that John couldn't, it was to make me do anything he wanted me to do. There's absolutely nothing you can do, when someone is so determined to make you submit, and nothing hurts more, than someone thrusting himself inside you, when you're not remotely aroused." Jo inwardly clenched all her muscles in sympathy with this. "So," George continued, suddenly realising that she was crying. "I agreed to take on the One Way case, because I couldn't bear the thought of him doing that again. But when he thought he'd found a way to finally get rid of John, he did anyway. I really had no idea what he had planned, but I knew it was something despicable. The one thing to really fire Neil up, is the thought that he can remove John once and for all. I didn't know what was worse, the actuality of what Neil was doing to me at home, or the very real possibility of what they might be about to do to John. Then, when One Way lost, I was terrified at what I might be coming home to, and as it happens, with just cause. I think I smiled at you, because I wasn't sure when or if, I would ever see you again, and I think I was taking what felt like my last chance to put the record straight. You didn't deserve half the things I said to you during that case, and I know I was being far worse than I usually am, but I think I needed someone else to hurt as much as I was, and you were an easy and familiar target. I knew that either professionally or emotionally, never mind physically, I wasn't going to come out of that case in one piece, and as terrible as it sounds, I think I was determined to drag you down with me. I couldn't take it out on Neil, so I took it out on you. I'm so, so sorry for the way I handled that case, and for the things I said to you." Jo didn't know what to say. She had silent tears running down her own cheeks by this time, and speaking was virtually impossible. "I just wish we'd known," She said eventually, reaching for the box of tissues on the dressing table, and putting it on the duvet between them. "John can't escape from the fact that he didn't pick up on any of this, but I saw you far more than he did. You've no idea just how many things now make an awful lot of sense, and in some ways, that makes it worse. You'd never objected to John being on the bench when I was in court before, yet you'd always been aware of our relationship. The PCC hearing was just an excuse to make John recuse himself. You could have come out with all that waffle, on the rights and wrongs of ex and current lovers before, but you never had. You were talking about no smoke without fire, when you were the one using one hell of a smoke screen. When you took that frightful risk, and asked John if he wanted to see the photos, you only backed down because of what Neil's reaction would be, if John had you locked up in a cell, which we both know he has done before. If you hadn't had the threat of Neil's fists hanging over you, you'd have gone as far as possible to prove your point." "It all fits together now, doesn't it," George said as she dried her eyes. "I just wish you'd said something," Jo said, sounding utterly defeated. "Would you have believed me if I had?" George asked, and Jo had to admit that it was a fair question. "I'd like to think so," She said eventually. "No, you wouldn't," George said without ranker. "The only reason you didn't question what I told you on Monday, was because the evidence was there before you. Even if you had believed me without seeing that bruise, you'd have questioned my motives for telling you something so personal." "What are you going to do?" Jo asked after a few moments silence. "What can I do, but get on with my life, and hope that I never run into him again. John can banish all his grandiose thoughts of justice right now, because we both know it will never happen. Men in Neil's position have always got away with the things they do behind closed doors, and I suppose they always will." 

Some hours later when John and Jo were lying together in the bed in George's spare room, Jo thought that this must be one of the most surreal nights of her life. Here she was, lying in bed with John, in the house of the woman who had been her greatest rival and enemy for years. If someone had told Jo a week ago that she would be doing this, she would have thought them insane. George was sleeping restlessly across the landing, no doubt thinking something along the same lines. It must after all, be just as strange for her to have Jo in her house, as it was for Jo to be there. Jo and John were lying with their arms around each other, both consumed by too many thoughts to go to sleep with ease. "What are you thinking?" Jo asked him softly. "Don't take this the wrong way," He said in reply. "But part of me feels as though I'm in the wrong bed." Jo laughed quietly. "I'm serious," John insisted. "Not in all those years of arguments, was I ever relegated to the spare room." "Yes, so I've heard," Jo said teasingly. "Oh, no, that's all I need," He said in resignation. "You two comparing notes on the finer, or not so finer points of my character. It would make a change from all the fighting though," He added contemplatively, leaving Jo with the thought that perhaps there could be at least one positive thing to come out of all the hurt Neil had caused. 


End file.
